My Greatest Pleasure
by thepalehorsevictoria
Summary: A short glimpse at how Hawke makes Sebastian's rockin' world go 'round.
1. Chapter 1

**_Are you going to take me home tonight_**  
><strong><em>Down beside that red firelight?<em>**

"Ooh, kitten, where did you get _these_?" Isabella purred over the open box of chocolates and plucked one out, and moaned at the sweet rich creamy candy.

"Don't really know. The confectioner's son ran up to me in the market and said that he was given twenty silvers to make sure these got to me. Mmm, the ones covered in chopped sugared nuts, those are just _wrong_."

"No wonder my people never camp too close to cities," Merrill licked at the chocolate on her fingertips, "If we lived too close to these, we'd never stop eating them!"

Fenris and Anders shook their heads and looked back at their cards, each forming strategies in their head to try and win back their coin from the smug dwarf at the head of the table.

Sebastian didn't even care about the terrible hand he pretended to play. All he could see were her soft lips pressing against the round brown chocolates and then he felt his ears tinge warm and color rise in his cheeks as he watched her eyes close and her voice sigh in delight. Hawke leaned back in her chair and Sebastian was happy that he couldn't see her collarbone jut out from the low neckline of her robes.

"Oh, Maker, these are going to go straight to my thighs." _Impossible_, he thought, not with all those romps to the Coast and weeks climbing up to Sundermount, her thighs were strong. But her hips were rounder and Sebastian wanted nothing more than to crash into them again and again and fill his hands with the curve of her backside and die in the warmth of her rounder breasts and he just might if she _ohhh-_

Hawke leaned forward to take another chocolate from the box and her robes-not her usual ones, these were larger in the chest and worn and he guessed they probably belonged to her late sister Bethany and they gave him the most magnificent view of the curve of her breasts and-

"Hey. Choir Boy! Stop drooling and ante up," Varric's voice cracked him out of his stupor and Sebastian snatched up his goblet to do something _anything_ with his mouth other than let it gape open.

Hawke's gray eyes snapped open and caught his, and she arched a slender black eyebrow.

* * *

><p>The midday sun was beating down on the frail nobles in Hightown, the women with their scented handkerchiefs doused in cold water and the men fanning themselves with their caps. Hawke wiped at her temples with a sleeve, scanning the Chanter's Board, which had been picked clean. Not that she ineededi the money, but a few spare silver would come in handy to get some more runes added to the new robes she had to buy. She was convinced that the blighted Kirkwall summer was making her eat more iced cream to stay cool.

And then, there was a waft of smoky salt, and her head tilted back at the memory of her parents taking turns watching the roast and turning the spit. Carver would always sit right in front, constantly asking if it was done yet. And then he'd eat half the damned roast.

She sniffed. _Rosemary_. She sniffed the air again. _Black pepper, garlic, _and_ . . . hickory_. Her stomach grumbled at the combination, and Hawke turned away from the board and sought out the street vendor in the corner. "Maker, it smells like Ferelden." She smiled at the skewers of meat cooking over the open flame, and reached for the purse at her belt.

"Allow me, Hawke." A voice curled up behind her like the smoke grom the grill. He smiled at the merchant, asked for three pieces, and paid well for them.

"Oh, no, Sebastian. I couldn't." Hawke blushed and looked away from the sizzling meat he held up to her.

"I insist, messere." He reached into some part of him and pulled out a smile that he knew would draw out the dimple in his left cheek, the one that the maidens at Arrow's Rest couldn't resist.

And neither did she. "Well, then. If you insist," her soft fingers brushed his as she took a wooden skewer from him, and her gray eyes closed and she leaned back a little at the taste of home.

He was pleased to see her eating well again - not long after she had come back from the Deep Roads she suffered from the tragedy of the loss of her mother and she was almost gaunt with grief. And then she got more accustomed to the leisure of Hightown, and her robes tortured him when they were pulled tight against the curve of her ass and the swell of her breasts.

Those breasts that were heaving now, with a slight sheen of sweat, and the imoan/i from her lips as she savored the treat and for a split second Sebastian saw _his cock between those lips, his hand cupping her rounder cheeks as she sucked him-_

"Shit!" The last skewer fell towards the ground, but Homer seemed to appear out of nowhere and nearly swallowed it whole, stick and all.

"Waste not, want not, your highness," Hawke quipped in between licks of her lingers and Sebastian busied himself with the detail in the mabari's collar to keep himself from staring. "Mm. Thank you. That was delightful."

The archer stifled a moan. "The pleasure was all mine, my lady." He stood up straight and offered her his arm.

* * *

><p><em>Inspired by a prompt on the kmeme and the legendary Freddie Mercury.<em>

_"Mage f!Hawke puts on some weight. It's not an unhealthy amount but enough to be noticed if someone was looking closely. Pudgy belly, larger thighs, bigger butt, fuller breasts, the whole shebang. Sebastian notices and he likes it, a lot."_


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke barely stumbled into the foyer, exhausted. What she thought was going to be a simple round-up at an estranged Carta base turned out to be . . . completely different, and she was thoroughly unprepared, and it was by sheer luck they survived. All she wanted now was a hot bath and a good meal.

A clang of what sounded like iron against steel came from the kitchen. And the smell was _incredible_. Potatoes and meat, _oh, Maker, a stew would hit the spot right now._

She staggered into the kitchen, leaning heavily on her new staff, and made a noise as she saw Sebastian staring intently at a cast iron pot bubbling over the fire, spoon in hand. He smiled at her voice, and turned to face her.

"Hawke, you're home."

"And . . . so are you. In my home." Her eyes darted to the bubbling brown contents of the pot and back at the archer. He looked so different, so _warm_ without his bright white armor and mail. "What are you doing here?" _Not that we're complaining_. The kitchen fire was warm, and the patch of brown tanned skin exposed underneath the lacings of his shirt was glowing in a light sweat. _How long has he been here?_

"I heard you were sighted coming back from the Carta base this morn," his cerulean eyes lowered as he poured wine into two goblets, one significantly more than the other, and he crossed the room to her and offered her his arm. "So I thought I'd cook you dinner, if you don't mind."

Hawke was speechless, and her legs barely had the will to object as Sebastian guided her to a chair at the kitchen table. He kneeled down beside her, deftly pulling at the laces of her boots and easing them off before she even realized what he was doing. A basin of water appeared out of nowhere, and he fetched kettle from the fire, and poured the hot water into the basin, keeping a finger in the water to gauge the temperature.

"I wish I had come with you. I'm sorry I couldn't abandon my tasks at the Chantry to come with you, and from the pigeon Varric sent, I-" he was interrupted by the soft moan from the mage as he eased her bare feet into the hot water. He rubbed lightly at a callus on the ball of one foot, and he spoke again, barely a whisper, thick with his brogue. "At least you are a good healer, and Anders was with you. The thought of you in pain, I - I wish I was there with you, Hawke."

She swallowed hard, a reflex against the flutter of her heart as Sebastian's hands smoothed over her skin, massaging at her aching feet. She tried to form sounds into words, and words into a sentence, "It's alright, Sebastian. You had to stay here." _And the truth?_ "And you're here now."

Sebastian looked up and smiled at her. "Aye, I am." His eyes roamed down her sides, almost dismayed to see the curves he had quietly encouraged almost gone from the trials of her travels. _No matter, they'll be back soon._

A low rumble bubbled from the stew pot. Sebastian darted back to the fire and stirring its contents. "Rabbit stew. Not much, but it's a Vael favorite." He lifted a spoonful to taste, and smiled again before he returned to the table with the goblets of wine, handing her the fuller one before adding water to his.

"Smells fantastic," Hawke sighed, absentmindedly running a hand up and under the collar of her robes and rubbing at a sore spot in her shoulder. She could smell the thyme and garlic, and it made her mouth water. "I didn't know you could cook," she rumbled from her goblet, eager for the dry red wine.

"My grandda made sure my brothers and I knew how to eat well when we hunted," Sebastian moved around the table and gently pulled her arm away, replacing her hand with his, rubbing at her shoulders. "_Maker_, you're tense. Lean back and relax, Hawke, you're home now . . . _there_. I remember being tasked with cutting up the carrots and practicing my aim throwing them into the pot from several feet away." He chuckled quietly as he felt a moan curl up in Hawke's throat, the mage finally relaxing under his hands. _She felt so soft under his fingers._

"Mm. I could melt, die happy, right here." Hawke's head tipped back, her eyes closed, and Sebastian stilled for a fraction of a second, fighting the impulse to lean down and kiss her.

* * *

><p>Sebastian lifted the lid and took a deep breath. The soup was ready, and he took great care in ladling just the right amounts into the large bowl, and covered it with a plate to keep it warm. This had to be perfect. For her.<p>

He batted off stray clouds of flour from his shirt (he shouldn't have worn black), ran his fingers through his hair, picked up the tray, and slowly made his way up the stairs, careful not to slosh any of the hot soup or dislodge the parcel tucked into his waistband.

He gingerly tapped at the bottom of the door with his boot, knocking. A single cough, and thankfully it sounded leagues better than it did last night when she came into the Hanged Man and out of the rain. "Yes?" Sebastian slowly nudged the door open with his foot and made it into Hawke's bedroom. With a deft turn of his ankle, he pulled the nearby side table closer to him and set the tray down, relieved of the small care, and lifted the plate covering the bowl with a daft flourish.

She was turned away from him, and when he made a small noise in his throat she wiped at her reddened nose, slowly sat up and turned to face him, and her eyes widened at the tray he laid beside her.

Sebastian felt his heart flip. "Soup and dumplings," he announced. "It always made me feel better when I caught a cold. Though," he unconsciously raised a hand to run at the nape of his neck, "I never had the strength to make the dumplings. Just the broth."

"Oh, Sebastian." Hawke took a deep breath as she took in the mug of wildflowers next to the bowl, but the breath turned into a sharp cough that groaned through her chest, and the sound of it made Sebastian wince and turn towards the chest of drawers, where he knew she had a bottle of lyrium, if she would just take it and heal herself-

"It's gone. Used it last week at the clinic helping Anders."

"I'll go get you another. You're sick, Hawke, and I've seen you heal this so many times."

"It's just a cold." A wet sniffle. "This too shall pass."

He forced himself to look at her, wrapped in swathes of silk sheets, her cheeks and nose rosy from agitation. "Please." He couldn't bear to see her like this.

"Please _don't_, Sebastian. I'll get more when I'm better." She blew her nose violently. "Plus, well, it's been a long time since I slept in." A sheepish smile, and she looked up at him, and he couldn't say no when she looked at him like _that_.

He perched himself on the side of the bed, and brought up the tray. "I'll stay only if you agree to finish the whole bowl."

"It smells divine, I'll give you that." Her hands trembled ever so slightly as she held the bowl up to her face. "Even through all this congestion." Her green eyes closed at the first bite. "Oh, _Maker_." Another spoonful, larger than the last. "How did you learn to cook like this?"

Sebastian was lost in the fuller curve of her cheeks, but he had enough sense of mind to hear the question. "Lots of time spent in the kitchen hiding from my nurse's switch," a small grin crept up his lips. "I got into a lot of trouble then, and the cook always made this when one of us got sick. I even threw my windows wide open in winter so I'd catch cold and ask for it when I was very wee."

Hawke was halfway through her bowl, trying desperately not to drop the spoon altogether and lift it right up to her lips and start slurping. And she could not help smiling at the idea of a small boy running through the kitchen, deftly sidestepping stools and sacks of potatoes, a head full of thick red hair and eyes so blue that the sky could look to them for guidance. _Would their children have the same eyes, and maybe her black hair?_ She quickly shook the thought away.

Sebastian made to lean back against the bedpost, but quickly sat upright again as the parcel almost crushed behind him. "Ah. And here," he reached around for it, and brought it out, peeling away the paper wrapping, "is your medication." He held out a small box she instantly recognized.

She gasped with delight. "Ohhh. You shouldn't have!" _Her eyes get just the smallest sparkle when something makes her happy_, he thought. They enraptured him. _I'll make them light up every day for the rest of my life._


	3. Chapter 3

Hawke knocked the dirt off her boots against the feet of the bench in her foyer, vowing never to venture near anything remotely named "sela petrae" or "drakestone" again, Maker take Anders. She eased the staff off the sling on her back and sighed in relief as she was released from the tight leather straps. Later she'd have to ask Bodahn to punch another hole so the sling wouldn't cinch her so tightly. After she gave the mabari by the fire a brisk scratch behind the ears, Hawke made it over to her writing desk, and found another parcel from the tailor Lady Elegant had recommended. The man did exceptional work - her favorite padded coat came back with another small pocket for a rune, and the extra panels gave her more room in the chest, waist and hips. It had been her father's once, and was nothing compared to what she could get at the Emporium or a traveling merchant from Orlais, but it was _Malcolm's_ and that was more important than anything. Grinning, Hawke whirled it around her shoulders, slipping her arms through in one swift movement. The feathers in the pauldrons tickled her nose, but when she buried her face in them and closed her eyes and breathed deeply, she could still smell his shaving oil.

And then there was the smell of something else. Something warm, and buttery, and _baked_. Hawke's eyes fluttered open. She'd have to talk to Orana about her baking habits if she wanted at least a few weeks before she had to send the coat to the tailor to be let out again.

But oh, it smelled like Lothering on Satinalia. _Just this once_, she amended, as she made her way to the kitchen. "Whatever you're doing, Orana, it smells delightful. Has Sandal left me any?" Hawke looked down and smiled to herself, pushing the door open. The younger dwarf was sitting at the kitchen table, happy as a clam, with a crumbly golden treat in his hands, crumbs all over his skin, and smiling. "Hello," his voice sang, and Sandal took another bite.

A strong chuckle came out from the pantry. "That's your second one, laddie. Fool me once, shame on me, but fool me twice-" Sebastian was packing something into a basket when he looked up at her and smiled. "Hawke. You're home."

Hawke had been leaning against the doorframe, but the surprise of seeing the archer sent her standing straight and she suddenly didn't know what to do with her hands. Though, given how much time Sebastian had been spending there, she thought she would have gotten used to the sight of him by now-maybe it was the lack of armor. His shirt looked impossibly soft, and the dark material of his breeches made his legs look like they went on forever.

Sebastian glanced out the window and squinted, thinking. "You're just in time."

"For what?"

He smiled warmly, and Hawke felt her chest tighten a little. "You'll see." He crossed the kitchen over to her side and took her hand in his (his skin was so warm), and his eyes were bright and unmoving, the smile on his face almost permanently etched. "But it's a nice surprise, I assure you." Sebastian stepped back, leading her towards the door, and even if she had just come in and felt tired the moment she leaned against the door, she suddenly had a second wind of energy as he offered her his arm.

They stopped in front of a ladder propped against the side of a building in the alienage, the sun setting and bathing everything in a warm gold. "Ladies first," Sebastian bowed and gestured towards the rickety ladder.

"What?" Hawke balked. "It's barely held together!"

"I've climbed them just this morning, in my armor, and it's fine." Sebastian deftly whirled around to stand behind her, placing a foot firmly on the lowest rung and holding the ladder in place. "And I'll be right behind you to catch you just in case."

Hawke opened her mouth to protest further, but couldn't say anything.

"Besides, I've got the basket." He lifted it up. "Wouldn't want this to fall on you."

"What _is_ in there, anyway?" Hawke's eyebrows lifted as she tried to peer into the wicker, but Sebastian pulled away before she could make anything of it.

"You won't know until you reach the top, will you?" He chuckled quietly.

She was frustrated. "Oh, alright." And she started climbing, slowly but surely.

Sebastian watched her take the first steps up the ladder, and swallowed the gasp that built up in his throat as he was treated to an exquisite view of the round curves of her backside, moving slowly and rhythmically upwards, and his grip around the basket handle tightened as he fought against the urge to reach up and grab her hips and _thrust into her_.

Hawke kept telling herself not to look down, not to look down, not to look down as she carefully stepped onto another rung. The sun was setting, and they were losing the light, and she had no idea where their final destination was. All her visits to the elven alienage were either at ground level or in the Fade, and she wondered what could possibly be so interesting on a rooftop. "I've hidden from templars in a great many places before, Sebastian, but not usually this high up."

"We're almost there, dearl-" A sudden gasp of air cut his sentence short, and for a second Hawke paused to reconsider what she thought she heard. But then the ladder creaked with their weight, and the small jolt of fear sent her scurrying up the last steps and onto the roof.

She looked around, surveying Lowtown and the alienage below. "So are you going to tell me what's going on, or do I have to keep guessing?" Hawke focused on her breathing, calming down more now that she was on solid ground again.

Sebastian walked closer to the edge and knelt down, pulling a blanket from the basket and spreading it out on the roof before sitting down on it, and looked up at the mage, smiling and patting the blanket, beckoning her to sit down beside him.

"Not much longer now. But you might want to take a seat." She hesitated, but relented, and sat down a little further away from where he had suggested, and the archer produced a bottle and three bundles of cloth from the basket next to him. Hawke could smell the same butter from the kitchen, and that gave away his plan.

"Ohhh, _Sebastian_." In the fading light, she could almost make out the color that rose in his cheeks as he unwrapped the first parcel, revealing a pile of small cookies.

"Shortbread," he explained, holding one up to her. "My grandda always had boxes of these waiting for me when I went to see him. Go ahead," he urged, "have one-but I guarantee you won't be able to stop at one."

Hawke closed her eyes at the light buttery cookie as it almost melted on her tongue, and it was possibly the best thing she had ever tasted. When she looked down to reach for another, though, she couldn't help but fumble in the darkness, and she didn't know that her fingers were grazing against the inside of his wrist until she heard him inhale sharply, and she pulled back quickly. "I'll probably stop at just one if I can't see a bloody thing," she smiled. "Shall I light something small on fire for light?"

"No, please, wait for it." Sebastian's voice was warm and rich, like the shortbread, and Hawke instinctively turned towards it. _She could follow that voice anywhere,_ she pondered, and she was surprised when he managed to lift another cookie to her lips even in the poor light.

And then a light started to glow below, the vhenadahl tree lit up with candles and magical flares, a soft hummed song rising up as the elves came together to celebrate. A few stars blinked in above them, and Hawke let out a small gasp in surprise, her face glowing with light from below. Sebastian bit his lip to keep himself from lunging forward and kissing her.

"_This_ is what you had planned?"

"The elves also celebrate the Festival of Light, in their own way. The Chantry's songs are much more ... decadent, I guess, but after so many years of that, I thought it was time for a change." He chanced a glance up to her to see if she caught his _other_ meaning, but she was enraptured by the radiance below.

"I've never seen anything so beautiful."

"Neither have I," he replied, without a pause, his gaze still on her, and this one she caught, her eyes darting up to meet his.

Sebastian leaned back, eager for even the slightest bit more space between them for just a moment, and looked up at the stars. Hawke followed suit shortly afterward, and smiled to herself. "What else do you have in there?" Sebastian's hands were busy with another bundle of cloth, and when the knots were untied there was a pile of strawberries, large and plump and dark in the starlight and candles from the tree below them. "Oh, my. Those. Those are my _favorite_."

Sebastian recollected his courage and looked back up at her, smiling again. "I know." He held a berry up to her mouth, and she hesitated, but soon she leaned forward and bit into the ripe berry's flesh, and it _drove him insane_ as he watched her. "I think . . . I know everything about you."

Hawke's eyebrows crinkled at him, and she swallowed before she spoke. "That sounds more than a little disconcerting, Sebastian." She looked down at the berries and picked out a few, but did not meet his eyes again, and she shifted in her place on the blanket.

The archer buried his face in his hand, and wanted the roof to collapse and swallow him whole. After a moment, he managed to murmur from between his fingers. "I mean," _he might as well say it_, "I mean to say that I . . . we've spent quite some time together, Hawke, and," _when did he get so tongue-tied?_ "I've come to care for you. A great deal, actually. And I've learned so many things about you."

Hawke still couldn't meet his eyes, but she could _feel_ him looking at her. "Such as?"

Sebastian put the rest of the berries down in between them-maybe it was a sort of peace offering to bridge all kinds of gaps-and straightened his back, his shoulders back. "You have an insatiable sweet tooth, for one," that remark managed to get a small smile. "And you have the most amazing heart."

She looked up at him, but said nothing.

He had to continue. "You spend so much coin equipping us, making sure we have what we need, and you've never turned down any of us when we ask for help. But yet, this coat," he reached out and ran the back of his finger down her sleeve, "makes me wonder when was the last time you did anything for yourself, when you'll ask _us_ for help."

Hawke eked out a whisper. "It's my father's coat. Guess I'm a bit of a sentimentalist. His coat, his staff, like your grandfather's bow, your sister's locket."

Sebastian took her hand and placed the third cloth bundle in her palm, and watched her unwrap it. "I found it in a stubborn drawer while I was looking for that blasted lyrium when you were sick," he carefully told her. "It needed a little care, but I think, now, you could wear it again?"

Her eyebrows crinkled again as she turned her mother's locket in her hands. When Leandra had died, she found it in the dirt in that godforsaken place, and then she was so paralyzed grief that it slipped away. But now ...

Sebastian nearly fell onto his back with the force of Hawke's arms wrapped around his neck, holding him tightly. And nothing could compare to how well she fit within his embrace.

For some reason, even after all the years of his misspent youth, Sebastian's back tensed up against the large roof tiles beneath him. He had delighted in the curves of Hawke's hips, and spent many nights dreaming of drowning in between her soft breasts, but he wasn't planning to be pinned underneath her on a rooftop in the alienage. And yet, despite countless hours of devoted prayers and fervent vows to the Maker and his Bride, Sebastian's hands instinctively shot up, one at the small of her back and holding her to him, the other lacing its fingers through the dark ringlets of her hair, and he pulled her lips to his like it was the most natural act in the world.

She was warm-incredibly warm, almost scorching hot-and he could taste the lingering sweetness of the strawberries on her lips as he gently teased at them with his tongue. The noise Hawke made started as a gasp, but quickly melted into a sigh of content, and the sound in his throat mimicked hers. Years of tension instantly fell off their shoulders, and Sebastian could feel the shiver race up her back as the fingers in her hair crept to the nape of her neck.

After an impossibly perfect eternity, Hawke pressed herself up and away from him. He kept his eyes closed for a second longer, memorizing the taste of berries and sugar and butter and _her_, and he was afraid to open his eyes and see what would come next.

"Oh, Maker, Sebastian, I'm so sorry."

He reached up to grasp her arms, hoping to coax her back down to him, and managed to draw her close enough to cup her round cheek in his hand, holding back so that the calluses on his index and middle fingers wouldn't scratch her. "Mmm," he had to warm up to his newly regained power of speech, "Don't be. I want this."

"But your _vows_."

"I want _you_, Marian." Sebastian couldn't take his eyes off her, her pale skin cloaked in the curtain of her hair, like it was hidden from the rest of world and saved just for him, only him. He let out a low chuckle that he hoped would ease her tension. "I prayed all those nights for guidance, but it was you all along." Her fingers slowly grazed a hard seam in his armor. "Your compassion, your bravery, your strength, Hawke, you are what will lead me to take back Starkhaven. _You_ are the sign I've been waiting for."

He tried to pull her back down again, but instead Hawke bolted upright and scrambled off of him, and before Sebastian could get to his feet she had reached the ground and started running back to Hightown.

It felt like an anvil had firmly lodged itself in his heart, and it pulled him back down to sit on the edge of the roof, his feet dangling over the edge. Sebastian couldn't hear the music below, and all the lights couldn't illuminate his vision, but he could see far enough to reach for the bottle of mead and uncork it, and take a long pull of the sweet liquid.


End file.
